


La Petite Mort

by percywinchester27



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Bartender Dean Winchester, Cutsie stuff, Dean Fluff, Dean Winchester Reader Insert - Freeform, Dean Winchester/Female Reader, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Implied Sexual Content, Neighbors, Puns & Word Play, Sarcasm, Sexual Humor, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, implied sex, lots of sex noises and moans and description and that sorta thing, neighbors to lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:14:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28175988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/percywinchester27/pseuds/percywinchester27
Summary: The reader has just shifted to a new flat and boy, someone on the floor has a really banging sex life! The passionate moans have been keeping her up for several nights in row and enough is enough! Reader has her suspicions, but is it really the green-eyed hottie from room no. 307?
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Reader, Dean Winchester/You
Comments: 24
Kudos: 34





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The mini-series is intended to have five or six parts. I so hope you folks like it <3

Everything was fine till the banging started. Pun very much intended.

The shift had been smooth, the job was going great and life was finally on track. You had slid under the covers with the most satisfied smile in years only to be woken up to a lady very, very, _very_ happy with her life.

_Oh yeah… oh yeah… ahhh right there… oh fuck yeah…_

You sat up right in your bed, eyes wide, face hot.

Third night in a row. Third fucking night. Literally.

What in the good heavens? The landlady might have mentioned _this_ while renting out the flat!

Shoving the pillow over your ears, you fell back onto the mattress, closing your eyes shut very tightly. Eventually sleep overtook you and you lapsed into lousy dreams of trying to catch the taxi which kept evading you. Not a metaphor for your sex life at all. Nope.

The disturbed sleep didn’t help your mood the following day. Everyone at the office thought of you as a happy-go lucky person. Lately, they were seeing this whole new dark side of you. Sleep was essential to your functioning. 

In the evening, on your way back, you stopped by the coffee shop downstairs to pick up a brownie. It was a little place; busy yet quaint. The barista, Charlie, made two hearts in your coffee instead of one. That put the biggest smile on your face. 

At least, the day was ending on a high note.

Your newly rented flat was on the third floor of a very complicated building. One staircase did not directly lead into another. An entire hallway had to be crossed to get to it. The design probably broke a hundred different by laws and someone was definitely paid off in the city civil office to get a construction permit. You did not want to imagine how the people would fare in case of a fire emergency. Learning the escape plan was like memorising the map of a treasure hunt. You escape, you win. You lose… whoops! Better luck in next life. But the rent was cheap and you were already living all the clichés of a struggling writer- one incomplete book, a job at a publishing house and addiction to coffee. So, yes, you would brave fire when it came to being able to afford a living.

Struggling with the brownie package and the coffee in your hand you jammed the key into the door. It didn’t go in. 

_What the hell?_

You tried again, and once more the key got jammed. On a closer look, you realised that the lock didn’t resemble yours at all. Stepping back, you peered at the door. 307. Not 306- which was yours.

The floor design was insane and instead of the flats being lined up next to each other, they were all fronting one another in a haphazard fashion. Shaking your head, you took a step back and jammed the key into the lock of your own flat.

_Jesus! You’re losing it, Y/N._

Shirking off the mild irritation, you cooked yourself a hot cup of instant noodles, put on your favourite TV show and slinked into your couch. Tonight’s episode was going to reveal who the murderer was and you had been dying for the suspense to finally end. 

Just when the protagonist was about to point a gun at the killer in the shadows…

_Oh my God… you’re incredible… aahhhh… ahhhh… ahhh…_

You completely abandoned the TV and jumped up from the sofa. The fire hazard might still be worth it, but the thin walls so weren’t.

On tiptoes, you made your way to the east side wall, putting your ear against it. The noise wasn’t coming from upstairs. That was the only sure thing. But it was impossible to pinpoint the direction. The moans were reverberating through the walls. So loudly that there was no escaping it. Not in the bedroom, the kitchen or the living room sofa. 

Of all of them, the east wall seemed like the culprit. 

_Right there… yeah…_

307\. Whoever it was in that room needed to calm the FUCK down. You grabbed your blanket and dragged it to the end of the living room, fuming. What ticked you off was _how much_ this was ticking you off.

It’s sleep you told yourself. The lack of sleep was the only thing making you mad. The sex noises couldn’t be it. Because there were other noises- a dog barked somewhere occasionally, one of the rooms had a very loud stereo and someone was too much into baking- the beater was ceaseless. No, it had to be the timing and your wrecked sleep schedule.

Just like the nights before, you covered your ears and started reciting the story of the manuscript you had been reading at work. Eventually, sleep overtook you again.

The next morning you woke up in a crappier mood. If that was even possible.

Breathing down on anything and everything, you locked the door on your way out for work. Turning into the corridor, you ran into a wall of solid flesh. 

In your groggy, sleep deprived state, the first thing you noticed was the way he smelled- leather and whiskey and something headier than that. It was divine. Next, you looked up into those eyes- stunning green, like sparkling water running over jade.

“Easy there, sweetheart!” The guy smirked. 

You straightened yourself and took a step back. In front of you stood the most handsome guy you had ever seen. He was tall, with dirty blond hair, almost brown, and those stunning eyes. 

“I’m so sorry,” you muttered, trying to collect your scattered thoughts. You had one of those dumb faces that gave away every damn thought crossing through your brain, so obviously you tried your best not to meet his gaze. Which was a shame really. That face demanded to be ogled at. Let alone the body that followed.

“No, no… I didn’t mind at all.” 

You saw him reach out to the door of 307.

“You’re the one who lives there?” You asked through gritted teeth. 

He raised an eyebrow. “Sure. You want a tour?”

Uhgg the best looking guy and he has to be such a douche!

Slipping past him, you stomped off towards the stairs. This too-good-looking-for-the-world asshat had been ruining your nights and in turn your life. 

You knew it was wrong to be mad at him without, at least, talking about the issue first. A polite conversation explaining your situation wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world now, would it? But how does one start a conversation pertaining to _that?_ After all, he wasn’t exactly the one making the noise. What would you say?

_So, hey would you mind pleasuring your girlfriend a little less?_

Or better. _Ever heard of a ball gag?_

Mere thought of it made you shudder.

The work day was spent trying to shove your neighbour’s stupidly handsome face out of your mind. It didn’t help that your mother kept calling, repeatedly. You knew what she had to say. How you should have taken that bigger job at Royal’s publishing. How the writing career might never take off. How you really should get a boyfriend now, or you’ll be the only unmarried cousin in the family.

Usually you could entertain your mother with well-timed hmms and ahhs. Today wasn’t that day.

Bone-tired and absentminded, you jammed the key in the keyhole in the evening, only for it to get stuck again. You looked up at the door. 307.

Well, shit!

Putting both your hands into it, you yanked the key with all your might, just as the door opened. There he stood, with his crooked smirk, dimples digging in, wearing nothing but a thin cotton t-shirt and sweatpants that hung all too low on those hips.

“You don’t need to break into my house. I already offered a tour.” Of course, god gave him an irresistible voice. Cause at this point, why not?

“Sorry,” you muttered, looking anywhere but at him. “I keep getting the wrong door. This one’s mine.”

“Oh, so you’re the one in 306!” You could feel his smirk more than see it. “Looks like you’re having a good ol’ time in there.”

“Excuse me?”

The guy raised scratched the back of his neck, face apologetic. “You might… ya know… just keep the voice down in there?”

The audacity of this guy!

“Rich of you to ask _anyone_ to keep it down!” You hissed. “Why don’t you tell your girlfriend to keep it low?” 

With that, you shut your door in his surprised face. The worst part was, after bumping into him in the morning, your mind was producing distinct images of him in the bed, doing things to a woman. You had tried your best not to let them make a home in your head. But like a stickly tenant, they refused to evacuate. No wonder it was hard to look him in those brilliant, brilliant green eyes. The guy was hot! There was no denying that. You weren’t even willing to accept to yourself just how much time you had put into imagining him naked.

If anything, the denial mixed with your pre-existing irritation and sleep deprivation had you ready tonight. 

So the moment the enamoured voice started begging, you hopped out of your chair. You had every intention of yelling yourself hoarse at the delectable resident next door, but the moment you stepped into the corridor, you came face to face with the very man. 

He was- thankfully, completely clothed- looking a bit harassed, himself.

_aahhhh… ahhhh… ahhh… right there…_

Your head whipped up to the suspected direction of the voice, and back at him. “Wait, you aren’t… it’s not…?”

His face mirrored your expression of surprise and then he burst out laughing. “Looks like we’ve both been played.”

“Not intentionally,” you said, peering at the adjacent doors, mostly to not look at him. “Where do you think it’s coming from?”

He shot a glance at the door opposite to his. “If it’s not you, my best guess is that guy over there. I mean, if you ask me, Nick over there doesn’t look the type to make a woman that happy… but what do I know?”

“You shouldn’t make assumptions about people,” you said, taking a tentative step towards the said door.

Mr. hot guy smartpants laughed. “Oh, trust me. He’s the douchiest douche you’ll ever meet. Guy like that? Definitely selfish in bed.”

You frowned at him.

“He asks women in the street to smile more,” hot guy explained.

“Uhhgg… yeah you’re right. It’s definitely not him.”

Hot guy pointed his fingers at the rest of the doors. “That one’s rented by three guys. I don’t think it’s them. Mrs. Hendrickson over there works night shifts. I have no clue who lives in there,” he pointed to the last door, directly in front of you.

_Goodness you’re amazing…_

“Yes, lady, we already know!” He called out.

You couldn’t help the giggle that burst through your lips.

His eyes softened. “Dean Winchester,” he said, offering his hand.

“Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N,” you said, taking his. He had a firm grip. A very funny sensation gripped your stomach. Like a flutter. Nervousness? 

“It’s great to meet you, Y/N.” He smirked. “I sure wish the circumstances were better.”

You bit your lip. “Listen, I’m sorry for the comment about your girlfriend. I was just mad about, you know… “

“Don’t worry about it. My non-existent girlfriend is very cool. She took no offense.”

You snorted.

“I was dead serious about the house tour,” He winked. “I can promise great coffee.”

“Sure, sometime soon.”

He shot a look at the door with the unknown occupants again. “I hate to leave this here, but I think we should get whatever kind of shuteye we can while they’re quiet over there, huh?”

“Oh, yeah!” You hurried back to your flat. “Night, Dean.”

He gave you his crooked grin again, just a hint of mischief. “Night, Y/N.”

You knew it wasn’t him now, and he was right about making the most of the quiet and fucking off to sleep, and yet, each time you closed your eyes, your mind decided to replay your imaginations for you. With a start, you sat up in your bed, a thought occurring to you like a hit on the head- If you had been thinking about him that way? Had he been imagining you as well?

Blood rushed to your face at the very idea. Though a tiny part of you begged for the answer- would it be such a bad thing if he had?


	2. Chapter 2

The side of town you had shifted to was _lovely_ \- right out of a picture book. Sure, work was just a bit harder to travel to, but the chirpy neighbourhood more than made up for it. On Thursday, after completing two weeks in the new flat, you decided to explore the streets after work. The sun was hanging very low in the sky and the chill in the air was making itself known. 

Instead of the usual coffee, you decided to mix it up with a shot of vodka. 

Your mother would’ve definitely frowned at your choices. But what else was new? Single girl, by herself in a bar on a Friday night? Desperate. That’s the word your mother would use. Desperate and lonely. You were hard pressed trying to make her understand that you were neither of those things. You were happy with the way your life was. Would you want to change a few things? Certainly. Was your relationship status one of those? Not really. 

It wasn’t the case that you didn’t want to be in a relationship. Just that you didn’t want to be in a pointless one. The right guy would come along eventually. Till then, you weren’t interested in being dragged along for the heck of it.

So you entered the bar with an air of defiance, daring the disinterested few to judge you.

It was one of those old school bars that played classic rock. Though, the décor was modern enough to attract a young crowd, and the lighting was fantastic- dim and hypnotic without being overbearing. You took a place at the corner seat on the bar counter, and asked for a vodka neat. 

“This ones on the house.”

You recognised that voice immediately.

“Dean?” You grinned at the guy standing in front of you. “You work here?”

He gave you a quick little bow, It was adorable.

“Nice to see a lovely face,” he said. “Break from all of this.”

You gave him the side eye, tipping down the shot. “Don’t tell me you don’t get pretty faces around here cause I won’t believe you.”

“None with shared life experiences… of having to stay up through the night.”

You snickered. “You look fresh as a daisy! And I look like I’ve walked straight out of a zombie apocalypse.”

“Not the compliment I was expecting, but I’ll take it anyway.”

“No, seriously? How do you manage to sleep?”

He smirked at you. “What do I get if I tell you?”

You made squinty eyes. “Best wishes that you never stub your toe against a piece of furniture and oh, you never lose your TV remote?”

“Add a coffee date to that and we have a deal.”

Boy, was he smooth. Secretly, you had been mad about not fixing the coffee date when you’d had the chance. Now the opportunity was strutting right up to you wearing a slutty Christmas costume and sashaying the hips. 

“We have a deal.”

Dean grinned. He threw a quick glance at the bar- it was still fairly empty- and looked back at you. “Well, I believe the most annoying thing about that whole… you know- “ He made a very _vivid_ gesture with both his hands that had you hot in the face- “is that we can’t do anything about it, right? So, I take matters in my hands, pun not intended-’ he smirked- “and sleep with headphones on, listening to music that I want to listen to.”

Wow. “That really works?”

“That, and offering double shifts at the bar. That way I avoid them horny little things all together.” He laughed and shook his head. “No, it really works.”

“Alright,” you smiled with him.

“Can I offer a repeat?” 

“Certainly.”

As much as you would’ve liked to keep chatting with Dean, he had work to take care of. You slid down from the barstool, ordered some actual food and took a seat at the far end table. A bulb was shining right down over you and the music wasn’t too overpowering here. Pulling out the one interesting manuscript you had landed this week, you started reading where you’d left off. The general rule in most publishing houses was to read the first three chapters only. If they grab your attention or you see some real potential in the author, you write up a blurb and pass it on to the senior editor. They make the call on whether the book was worth investing more time into.

Technically, you’d finished with the first three chapters already and would start working on your blurb tomorrow. But once in a while, the author was so good, you simply couldn’t help bringing the manuscript home and staying up all night reading it.

You were very lost in the book when Dean slid into the chair in front of you. “You’re reading a _book?”_

You knitted your eyebrows. “That’s a problem?”

“Oh, no. It’s just funny that you’re in the most hip bar this side of the town and you’re eating the greasiest food and reading a book.”

Despite the words, Dean didn’t sound taunting at all. In fact, you could see a subtle admiration in his eyes.

Very deliberately, you picked out a fry, dipped it in the ketchup and threw it in your mouth. “Bite me.”

He snorted. “What book you reading?”

Giving him a guilty look, you showed him the front page. “It’s still unpublished. I don’t think I’m supposed to carry the manuscripts out of the office.” You frowned. “The others never do.”

“Ooohh we have a revolutionary amidst us.” Something about his eyes when he said it had you squirming in your seat. Dean wasn’t just hot, he was sexy. The difference between those two things was very subtle- Wine versus a classic cognac.

“So you’re into publishing, huh?”

Smart guess.

“Yep. Junior editor.”

“D’you like it?”

“I like it well enough. The money is alright, people are nice.”

Dean’s green eyes sharpened. “But?”

“How do you know there’s a _but?”_

He bit into that full bottom lip for a second, then shrugged. “I could tell.” 

The little tilt of his chin suggested Dean wasn’t asking the questions just for the heck of it. He really was interested in the answers.

You gave in. “I love what I do, really , but I want to write a book of my own, you know… I’m just… not able to put it together. Each compilation seems crappier than the last.”

“What’s it about?” He asked, leaning forward. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s alright. I’m not writing a full fledged romantic novel or whatever,” you scrunched your nose. “It’s an anthology of short stories, horror. Before you say anything, I know it’s going to be hard to push forward a debut like that, but I feel it in my gut… if I’m ever going to tell my stories to the world, it’s got to start with this anthology.”

Dean put out his hands. “Wasn’t gonna stay anything, but hey, good on you! Huge Kurt Vonnegut fan over here. If I had to pick out one book in a story, I’d much rather pick out horror than any of that sappy romantic stuff.”

It was very nice of him to say it, whether he truly believed it or not. You steered the conversation away from you, suddenly self-conscious. “Do you like it here?”

“Sure… money is alright, people are nice.” Dean winked. “And I’m about to become the part owner, so I don’t even have to clean the puke anymore.”

You laughed. He was so easy to talk to.

“I think I should head back now,” you said, regret almost audible in your voice. Both, because of heading to the sexed up apartment and having to leave the delectable present company. “Wish I could manifest a pair of headphones out of thin air.”

Dean’s eyes twinkled. “Wait here,” he said.

You watched him disappear out back, doing your best to not shamelessly objectify him. But boy, those jeans fit him all too well, hanging from his hips in that alluring-

“Here, take these.” Dean handed you a pair of very comfortable looking headphones. “I’m covering the night shift, won’t be needing them tonight.”

“I can’t-”

“Course, you can.” He gave you that sinful smirk of his. “It’s all good. Got a spare one at home, and I’ll get to see your lovely face again when you return it. Win-win.”

“Damn, dude! You really make this work for you, don’t you?”

He put up a grave face. “The handsome comes with a responsibility, Y/N. I take it very seriously.”

You snickered.

“Coffee and dinner at my place Saturday evening?” He offered his hand.

You shook it firmly. “We have a date,”

After a couple of crappy dates set up by coworkers, friends and then, your mom of all people, you had completely given up on your luck in that arena. Then, there was Dean- charming, sexy, smart and most importantly, nice! Also sexy. Oh, that’s mentioned already? Hot, then. What was more? He’d simply dropped into your life without any active efforts to find him.

Dean had walked you to the door of the bar and recommended some AC/DC songs that he promised would drown-out even the call of death. You were pretty much floating on cloud nine by the time you reached your floor. Of course all that went out in two seconds flat.

_“Jesus fuck, baby… push it deeper…”_

You shut the door faster than lightning. Didn’t drown out the whole explicit passage that followed, but it, at least, cushioned the impact. You’d seen a pretty blonde exit out of the apartment fronting Dean’s- 304, the one that was his best guess for the source of noise. Douchebag Nick had scored a hot girlfriend. You hadn’t ever seen Nick, but again, the image the blonde riding a frat-guy flashed before your eyes. Shoving all those thoughts out of your head, you got to work, with Dean’s earphones on, playing the album he’d suggested. You felt fresh, tonight. Fresh enough to open your anthology, and start putting the stories in order. Most of them were years old, already edited, read and reread till they had achieved the comfort level of a favourite cardigan. You worked late into the night, only heading to bed when all the chapters were in place. 

The headphones were still on when you slipped under the sheets. All the bass and screaming should have scrubbed you clean of all sleep, but slowly, the complicated guitar pattern unwounded itself, and you recognised the perfect harmony of drums that synced with it. On the ninth repeat, you found yourself drifting off into an easy sleep for the first time in over a week, with pleasant thoughts of impending coffee dates lingering in your dreams.


	3. Chapter 3

You stood outside his door with a slight trepidation, so many questions running through your mind. Had you come off as too eager that day in the bar? Had it been an obligatory _welcome thy neighbour_ kinda thing? Maybe it’s not a dinner date at all, just a cup of coffee. Not to be the one to put yourself down, but Dean couldn’t possibly be as attracted to you as you were to him. What if you gave away your non so innocent feelings and scared him off? **  
**

That part of your brain was egging you on to make a run for it. Just ditch this whole thing and go the fuck to bed.

The other sensible part kept you rooted to the floor. Considering all your cards, you were pretty sure Dean had been flirting with you ever since you’d bumped into him. It was his idea to invite you and there was still the matter of borrowed headphones.

As you stood there, hesitating pointlessly, the door to Nick’s flat opened and a beautiful girl came out. “I’ll see you in fifteen, honey,” she said with a smile, heading towards the stairs.

Cue, you started banging on Dean’s door. Loudly. Not only did it slow down the girl when she turned out of curiosity, but Dean opened the door in the very next minute.

His eyes found you, and then as a reflex shifted behind to the girl disappearing out of sight.

“Dean! Dean!” You hissed. “That’s the girl from Nick’s apartment.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “That idiot managed to score way above his pay grade.” He tilted his head, frowning, “Actually, pretty much everyone is above his pay grade.”

You stopped him impatiently. “That’s not it. This isn’t the same girl I saw yesterday! This one’s a brunette and that one was blonde. Just as stunning though.”

Dean made a face. “That jerk!”

You had mixed feelings about the whole situation. On the one hand, you felt you should tell one of the girls that they were being cheated on, but on the other hand, what did you know? Maybe just maybe, one was his sister, though that didn’t seem likely from the circumstantial evidence. People were into all sorts of things. You didn’t know if they had a poly going on. Dean’s face looked exactly like how you felt inside- you could wonder, but this, in fact, was none of your business.

After a second, he smirked. “Why don’t you come in?”

You did, handing him the bouquet of daisies. “For you!”

Dean’s smile widened as he understood the reference from their last conversation about how he looked fresh as a daisy despite the lack of sleep.

“Why, thank you.” Dean gestured towards the sofa and you went to take a seat on it. 

This was one of your mother’s tricks- hand a man a bunch of flowers on the first date. Now, usually, you wouldn’t want to be caught dead following one of your mother’s ‘dating tips.’ They were old-fashioned, sexist and somewhat misogynistic, tied in with her desperation to get you involved. But this one made sense for the logical reason, especially given Dean’s overall demeanor. He was confident in his skin, charming and had a way with his words. Someone like that could very well turn out to be an egotistical alpha-male douchebag. He wouldn’t appreciate the traditional role reversal and be on the receiving end of flowers- daisies of all things.

But not Dean. He didn’t have a flower vase in his living room. You saw him unceremoniously dump half the water from his glass jug into the sink and put the flowers in it, before placing them on the kitchen table- right in centre. The yellow of the daisies blended well with the happy colours of the room.

“So, how do you like your coffee?” His eyes did that thing they did- smouldered with intensity and still held their humor.

“Black with half a spoon of sugar.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, otherwise said nothing. He poured your cup right along with his, added the sugar and brought it to you.

Thanking him politely, you took a sip. “Mmm this is amazing coffee.”

“Told ya!” Dean smirked. “Around here, we don’t compromise on our coffee.”

You took another sip, letting the warmth seep into your hands through the surface of the mug, furtively eyeing Dean’s apartment. It was a mirror opposite of yours in layout and just as opposite in decoration. Compared to yours, which was newly moved into, this one was sunny and lived in. The corners on the wooden furniture were smooth and the walls were a lovely faded hue. 

His home was sparsely decorated. The TV was placed exactly where yours would be on the other side. On the adjoining wall were a bunch of pictures. His family, you assumed from the extreme good looks. Genetics. Figures.

One particular picture stood out. The frame was larger and it held the centre place. In it were two boys, laughing at each other in front of a car. One was Dean in his leather jacket, and the other was a boy with long hair covering his forehead in bangs. Something about the picture stuck out to you- Dean’s laughter. You’d seen him smirk before and laugh even, but not like this. Happiness and contentment was pouring out of every pixel… and love.

“That’s my little brother Sam,” Dean said casually, noticing your preoccupation. “He’s in Stanford. Law school.”

Every word rang with sincere pride. 

“Now I know what you’re thinking,” Dean smirked. “How come he looks like that, when I look like this, right?”

“That’s _not_ what I was thinking!”

“No, it’s alright. I know,” he titled his head. “Sammy got the brains in the family, had to trade off in some department.”

Dean winked but you just stared at him, figuring out the first of what was under that confident skin. Of course, he’d seemed elusive to you! All of his perfectness made him seem that way- hard to achieve. You had been second guessing Dean’s interest in you from the very beginning, questioning how someone that charming, that attractive, that unbelievable could be into you so soon. 

In that one sentence, you caught the first true glimpse of him. Dean couldn’t be more than twenty seven or twenty eight years of age. In that much time he’d manage to become the part owner of one of the most successful bars in town. You knew from what he’d told you that he’d started from the bottom rung and worked his way up to that position. That required both hard work and brain. Yet, here he was, selling himself short just like you, and making a joke about it at the expense of his clearly good looking brother. If anything, it made you warm up to him more. 

“What?” Dean frowned, slightly self conscious, further proving your theory.

You grinned and shook your head. “Nothing.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Alright, Miss Weirdo, what’s up with you? You ever get to work on your anthology?”

“Oh, yes! I did,” You clapped your hands, then reached out into your bag to pull out one of the prints. 

“Here,” you handed it to him. “I took you for your word. Finished compiling it, printed out two copies and left one on the desk of my senior editor.”

“Y/N! That’s awesome!” He turned the book in his hands, going through the blurb. 

“Only if it doesn’t get me fired.” A move like that was pretty risky. There were strict protocols on how the books were to be sorted, and you had handed in your own manuscript along with the other screened authors like it was nothing.

Dean scoffed. “It won’t get you fired.”

“How can you be so sure?” 

“Because,” Dean said, putting the book down and giving you his complete, undivided attention. “You’ve got to take risks sometimes. That’s the only way to make a name for yourself. It’s how your senior editor got to where she is.”

“She won’t see it as me being an upstart?”

Dean shook his head. “A risk is only awful if you’re hurting someone else. This doesn’t hurt anyone. The worst that can come out of it is that your boss refuses to publish it. Then you pack up the store and try with another publisher.”

He was making it sound so easy. Nothing ever was.

You were about to tell him that when your phone went off. You looked at the screen and groaned.

Turning to Dean, you held up two fingers apologetically, before making your way to the balcony and finally answering the call.

“Mom,” you breathed out, defeated.

“Y/N! Where have you been? I’ve tried calling you like a _hundred_ times!”

“I’m out, mom. I’ll call you when I get home.”

You were about to hang up when protests sounded on the other end. “Don’t you hang up on me now, young lady. You’ve been avoiding me like the plague. I’m your mother for God’s sake.”

Mother who was only interested in one thing.

“You can only put down the phone if you’re on a date. Nothing else counts right now.”

There it was. 

As much as you wanted to tell her exactly that and shove the phone, you didn’t want her to start with the excited burst of follow-up questions either. You stayed shut.

She sighed on the other end. “I know what you think of me pushing you like this, Y/N/N. You want to be this free independent girl, but life is not easy on free independent girls. Look at Mindy, she’s getting married next weekend. She met the boy five months ago and now they’re getting married. No one’s as picky as you are.”

“Hey, mom, you do know it’s a shotgun wedding, right?”

“So what? She’ll have a family within the year. Is that such a bad thing?” Your mother’s voice rose. “The guy did the proper thing and asked her to marry him the moment he found out. Isn’t that a gentlemanly thing to do?”

You were feeling compelled to point out that sleeping with someone without a condom wasn’t gentlemanly, but you refrained. An argument with your mother in Dean’s house wasn’t going to achieve anything.

“I can hear that judgement, Y/N.”

It was your turn to sigh. “What do you want me to do, mom?”

“Bring someone with you to the wedding.”

“What?” 

You saw Dean jerk on the sofa at the raise in your voice and turned around to moderate it.

“Mom, I don’t have anyone to bring,” you said through gritted teeth.

“What about Dave? He’s a nice boy.”

“Dave and I broke up a year and a half ago.”

“Asking him for a day won’t hurt.”

This was impossible. The whole situation was impossible. This was why you weren’t picking up her calls.

“I’ve asked Cali to have a plus one on you, Y/N. So you better bring someone with you and that’s the end of it.”

“But, mom-”

The call cut off. Thank heavens for the crappy signal in the apartment. At least, there was one advantage of living in this sexed up place.

Putting your phone on airplane mode, you went back to the living room, already apprehensive about what Dean must be thinking.

“You okay?” He asked, the moment you took your seat, his wide eyes sincere.

Now, you had every intention to fake a smile and lie but the truth just came tumbling out, “It’s my mother. She just doesn’t know when to leave well enough alone.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

Running your hand over your face, you looked at Dean. “My cousin Mindy’s getting married this weekend and my mom can’t bear that I don’t have a guy on my arm! As if that’s the only thing that matters.”

Dean bit into his bottom lip. He was resisting saying something.

“Look, I know what you’re thinking… why can’t I go alone? Defy expectations blah blah blah… but you don’t know my family. They’re just very… traditional. Guys in the lumber industry, girls married before twenty-two, mothers at twenty-five and then there’s me. I’m the first one to move out. Go to the city and do something else with my life… not something worth doing according to them. So why am I bothering, right?”

“Not what I was gonna say,” Dean said. He raised his hands in a careful gesture. “But I ain’t judging you for putting up with your family. S’ not my place.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to look up at him.

“What I was going to say-” he drew out the sentence- “was that I’d like to come with you.”

“You’d do that for me?” The words were out before you could stop them. Even to your own ears they sounded a bit pathetic and desperate. “Why?”

Dean tilted his head. “For one, your mom asked you to bring a date and the last I checked-” he looked about himself adorably- “This is a _date_. So, unless you’re seeing someone else, this is clearly my responsibility.”

Despite yourself, you cracked a small smile. “And for the other?”

“I don’t have any plans for the coming weekend. I’d like to spend it with you.”

Your brain was telling you this was all too easy. Hot neighbour? It could happen. Hot neighbour interested in you? Long stretch, but could still happen. Hot neighbour who is interested in you AND willing to put up with your crazy family for a weekend after exactly three interactions with you? That was pretty much impossible. But looking into Dean’s eyes, you could see mischief there but no guile. He meant every word.

Besides, you _were_ desperate. For the smallest part of a second your mind had considered the disgusting possibility of actually asking Dave, before outright rejecting it.

“The food’s good, right?

“Best, I’ve been told.”

He grinned. One smooth lift of his lips. “Alright, then. We have another date. A whole weekend. Think you can manage that?” He wiggled his eyebrows.

“Dean, I don’t know how to thank-”

You could almost see him begin to shake his head, when-

_Ahhhh gosh… deeper… deeper, baby…_

Both of you stood up at the same time, eyes roving towards the wall.

_Oh God! Oh….aaahhh… Christ_

Unbelievably, the woman’s voice was louder in Dean’s house. The brunette was clearly back.

 _Aaahhh… Gosh… aaahhh…_

Dean looked at you and gave you his patented smirk. “If you really want to thank me, I have an idea. C’mere.”

He grabbed you by your hand and pulled you to the wall he shared with Nick’s apartment. Where his skin touched yours, you felt electricity jerk up your arm.

Dean winked at you once, then a glazed look coming over that perfect face. “Oh, sweetheart… you’re a goddess… you like that?” He said, voice deep and husky. Cue, your stomach tightened in a way it never had. Your legs felt weak.

He opened his eyes, and they were almost black, sultry. “C’mon!”

You caught on quickly.

“Right there, honey,” you moaned, closing your eyes. “Oh, you really know how to use those fingers.”

“You’re so sexy… can’t get enough of you, baby…”

“Aaahhh…” you followed.

His words were coarser. “You like that, Sweetheart? You want more?”

Blood was boiling under the surface of your skin just listening to his voice. What was happening to you?

“Oh.. Dean…” You whimpered. “Go harder…right there… aaahhh…”

Dean didn’t reply

When you opened your eyes, you found him staring at you, all hints of the teasing gone. Blood immediately rose to your face.

“What?” You asked, stealing eyes.

“Nothing,” he said. “We seemed to have impressed our friends.”

Sure enough, the voices were gone.

“We did it, m’ lady,” Dean bowed. “Looks like your raunchiness put theirs to shame.”

You put your face in your hand, giggling into your palms. Unbidden, your fantasies from the first night came back to you- Dean in bed, making a girl moan. They weren’t just imagination now. You’d heard him, seen those lips part in sinful gasps. Was there a going back now?

Next to you, Dean laughed and just for a second, your eyes met… the thrill of a shared mischief passing between you, though his green eyes still held the remnants of that hooded look. Maybe the upcoming weekend wouldn’t be so bad. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please tell me what you guys think? Feedback keeps me going <3


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